


he told me I was holy

by scorpiod



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: AU, Abuse, Character Study, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Multi, Religious Themes, Sexual Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 03:58:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5482472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiod/pseuds/scorpiod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paloma is only human, and there's only so much she can do when caught between two gods || AU, fix-it fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	he told me I was holy

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Halsey's _hold me down_. Written for a tumblr prompt, but mainly to work out my sad Paloma feelings.

La Diosa is a harsh teacher, but Paloma learns how to dance, how move like she does, her own clumsy human grace struggling to keep up and take after her.

 _Release yourself_ , she says, and Paloma tries.

Tries to reach down inside herself and pull out her core, to lose herself over to the music and the goddess.

The goddess moves with her, wrapping her arms around her silently, guiding her, and it's like praying on altar, Kisa sharing her grace with her, and for a moment, Paloma is filled with holy light.

*

Carlos Madrigal smiles at her, offering Paloma a sip of wine, and her heart won’t stop pounding like the fragile human thing it is, betraying her fear. She doesn’t shake--she holds ramrod still, and it makes her a little sick, the way she feels like a deer, soft and plump and ready for the slaughter, and the sly predator cornering her on the bed.

 _I can save you_ , he says, eyes flashing gold, _I can give you what she never will._

Carlos’s breath smells like blood; there’s something rancid in it she can’t place, like decay, more honest than his handsome face. He touches her wrist, fingers pressing down on her soft skin. 

(that is what men do, don’t they; promise pretty things, and deliver pain and violence)

Paloma shakes her head, pulls away, and he lets her, for the time. _I don’t want anything from you._

She toys at the pendant at her throat, the Diosa’s fangs flashing in her memory, the way she tore a woman’s throat out--the temporary feeling of safety that enveloped her as she stared at her snarling face.

 _You think that will save you?_ he asks, grinning at her, a sneer in his voice. _I love her too, but la Diosa is a bit of a disappointment._

*

La Diosa curls her mouth up in a small smile when she sees Paloma dance. It is hard to find the softness in her face, all sharp angles and sharper teeth, and Paloma still remembers her steel fist in her stomach, the way she almost threw up, how hard it was to breath after.

But she smiles at her now, tilts her head in approval, and her world explodes in color and light, feels like she just danced in the sun.

Something hot crawls in Paloma’s belly when she touches her afterwards, a delicate hand on her shoulder; she thinks it’s repulsion first. Or maybe desire. It feels like the same thing, really, a sick churning in her gut.

Ugly hideous desire, the kind that sets whole cities on fire.

*

Paloma’s mother taught her about Kisa.

_Our gods weren’t like the christian god, not like the god the Spanish brought over, the ones who claim to love all, the one who demands you worship only him. Our gods are more honest. And they demand blood._

_You have to earn their favor._

But Carlos tells her, _godhood is a malleable thing_ , as he outstretches his hand to her. _Anyone can do it._

*

She catches Kisa holding her hand out in the sunlight, watching it burn, the skin smoking and curling before she pulls back.

It’s a blasphemy, she thinks. _Kisa means sunlight_. She’s not supposed to burn in it.

“Why?” she asks her, her voice hot and shaking. "Why does it hurt you?"

Paloma reaches out to touch her burnt hand, feeling the skin fleck away even as new skin grows on top of it. She expects la Diosa to shove her back, put her back in the cage for daring to touch her, but instead she flinches away from her like she’s the one who harmed her. 

She doesn’t look like a goddess, Paloma thinks. She looks like a young girl, younger than her.

 _Because I'm not free yet_ , she says, out stretching a hand to stroke the soft, human skin of Paloma’s jaw, her nails sharp enough to make her shiver. _And I’m not la Diosa._

She grabs her by the chin then, grip firm, making sure their eyes meet. 

_You are, remember?_

*

Carlos Madrigal finds Paloma again after the brothers let her go. _Want to be my queen?_ he asks, like it's nothing, dragging her along by her wrist, almost hard enough to pull it out of it’s socket if she didn’t keep up. _I'm the one who spread her legend. I can do it for you too._

 _False prophet_ , Paloma thinks. _I'm not her_ , she says instead, _I’m not her, I’m not a goddess_ , but he doesn't listen. He doesn't seem to see her either, so Paloma spits at him.

He doesn't let her go this time, promising she’ll feel better afterwards.

(it's not that she doesn’t want it, that she wouldn't like to feel holy all the time, that she wouldn’t like the safety of being born with fangs and claws; she just doesn’t want it from him)

*

“I’m sorry,” Kisa says, when she finds her with Carlos after, at Jackknife Jed’s, staring each other down at the parking lot. Paloma meets her eyes, trying to stand tall, but somehow she doesn’t feel like an equal, still feels like a newborn colt trying to walk. 

“I’m sorry he did this to you. I didn’t want this for you.”

“You did this to me,” Paloma whispers. It’s a condemnation, but she’s not angry. Not right now--she was angry earlier and she will be angry later, but it’s a useless emotion; it won’t get her what she wants. “You brought me here too. You made me dance for him.”

Kisa nods. Her eyes are wet with tears. Her features are soft, like a young girl. “I told you I wasn’t a goddess,” she says, a hollow laugh on her lips. “That’s just something men say to women sometimes, to seduce them. You were fed a lie.”

Paloma shakes her head, stands up straight. Carlos is wrong, with his delusions of grandeur, but so is Kisa. “My mother told me you were a goddess, and mi abuelita before her. They’re not liars.”

Paloma steps forward, until she’s close enough to share the same air. She grabs her by the throat, but she doesn’t squeeze, not like Kisa did with her--she just wants to feel her, the way her body feels under her strong hands now, no longer shaking like a doe, wants to know what it’s like on this side.

“I didn’t say I didn’t want it,” she says, and kisses her, the way she tried when she was first teaching her to dance. The way she always wanted. Kisa allows it this time, sliding her eyes shut, Paloma crawling under her skin. 

_Goodbye, Diosa_ , she says when she pulls back, and walks away. 

*

There’s never any getting away clean.

The fangs in her mouth don’t make her feel like a goddess, and neither does the aching hunger in her chest.

But Paloma doesn’t mind the blood stains on her teeth, the new strength she feels; she thinks she could get used to that.

She steals away into a new car and drives away from Texas, far away from Carlos and his ascension to godhood at Jackknifes, away from Santanico and her tangled plans, disappearing into the night.


End file.
